Love Through Time
by Ana Almeida
Summary: For five years, Andrea has been keeping a secret from Miranda. Warning for 'lesbian activity' and girl penis. Do not like, do not read.


Love Through Time

 **Prologue**

 _Sixteenth, February, Five Years Ago — Upper East Side, New York_

A countless stars dusted the dark surface of the boundless night sky, her breath came out in frosty fogs of white, vanishing in the night air. A sudden rippling wave of heat flooded through all Andrea's body; the findings of this wintry day had only fueled her restlessness and fearfulness, and a riot of her emotions remained loud and chaotic inside every single piece within her. A small smile, however, stretched the journalist's face, gracing her features further as she took cautious, yet determined steps toward the townhouse in the implacable February weather. Gliding over the few rungs of the stairs, watching her long shadow at her left side, she gathered a foggy glimpse of the foyer. Sighing profusely, she finally rang the bell. Once, twice. And, lastly, a answer.

"Did you just smack your little brainy head on the pavement? What in the Earth are you doing here?" — asks the white-haired woman bluntly in a frightfully undertone, what isn't that scary comparing to the death-stare she gave to her former assistant.

The younger woman audibly swallowed the massive lump in her throat, trying her best to remember what in the hell said her mental speech she had prepared earlier. The sapphire eyes met Andy's dusky eyes, charging her for any explanations.

"What am I doing here?" — the youngest woman rolls her eyes mentally, hating the way her voice got so fearful. _Get yourself together_ , Sachs, she scolded herself — "I, I want to tell you something but... May I come in?"

"Mira, darling, who is this?" — the smooth, silken purr sounds muffled inside the house and Andy hesitated only for a moment before stare at tall gentlewoman, dressed all in black and white, with a very expensive pair of heels—perhaps Blahnik or Louboutin—, wearing small pure gold accessories, and a emerald-ring upon her finger. The very important-looking miss grinned at the younger woman, fully unaware of who she would be — "Good evening." — she says looking at Andy all the while with her great hazel eyes.

The lady was just stunning.

Andrea felt truly humiliated.

It's an disquieting feeling, and though the colunist's instincts bid her to walk down the stairs and run the faster she is capable of to wherever her feet took her to, she stayed. Upon the previous question, Miranda stares at the tall woman on her side so lovingly that Andrea started to wondered if it was really worth it.

Well, it was.

"Oh, my dear, _this_?" — she requests, and afterwards — " _This_ is nothing but a waste." — The editor could feel Andrea's wee, ragged breaths before her as the girl stared at her wide-eyed, silent tears starting leaking steadily from those stunning cocoa orbs. And Andrea only wants to yell at her the real reason she was there for, but, somehow, she couldn't. Miranda stared at the woman standing in the front porch of her townhouse with anything but disdain; sparing her usual air of superiority, and power. The editor-in-chief searched the dark tearful eyes of the young woman, and after pursed her thin lips, she says in a forced kindness — "I'm afraid that I'm _not_ interested in _you_ , or what you are offering me at all, miss." — the words of the white-haired woman were replete of double meanings that only she and the youth could perceive and comprise — "Have a good evening."

And what remains afterwards were tears.

Oh, sure, and a unborn child in Andrea's womb.

A good evening, indeed.

* * *

Sup, guys! I use to have this hideous crisis of anxious when I write something, so I decided to post it—otherwise I would die. However, I suffer with a terrifying creativity lock—it disappear out of the blue, with no reason—, so the update might take a little while to come up—but don't leave me, I promise to offset all you guys. Oh, and, of course, I beg your pardon for all my mistakes and misunderstanding, because my first language is _not_ English but Portuguese—and I'm working very hard to make it batter for all of you. Reviews are just love, adeus!


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